Who are you? Where are you going?

Outside of prose, my artistic experiments almost always deserve the fate they almost always receive, which is never to be seen by anyone but me. An exception to this is my "Identity Mural": because that thing is up on the door of the Rose-coloured Ranch, more people see it than, say, my sonnets and sketches of eyeballs. And because I'm way too excited when I receive people's business cards (shout-out: note most recent addition to the mural,a Trainspotting-esque card from Vepo Studios at bottom righ)t, some people who have never even been to the RCR have had cause to wonder what exactly it is. So, here ya go:



This is probably not even properly a mural, because it doesn't form an image out of all the disparate parts. It's just a bunch of stuff stuck to a door, really--I told you I should stick to prose. But this thing is something I'm partial to, because it combines three things I like especially: other people, public transit, and my own name. Here's what's there:
--business cards of people I have met
--expired ID of my own
--expired Metro passes
--three name tags--one that says, "Who are you?" one that says, "Where are you going?" and one that is blank
--in the centre of it all, the peephole to my front door
--a *lot* of scotch tape--I, like Ramona Quimby, think scotch tape is god

A little random, a little fun. I am fond of my mural, unmurallike as it may be. And trust me, it's way better than the sonnets.

I've got my sights on / and I'm ready to go
RR